She glided past the galleries
I didn’t see her. I was late, just like you,
and all I saw was purple slowness
leaving in the air,
vibrations
the songs that they were singing
She was not late and she was
more than full of emptiness
She was more than a wedding
and more than a seed that’s growing
In to what is she blooming?
Flower of hope?
Or flower or mourning?
Dream, she’s not there. imagine, she’s not a memory
a substitution, invention, an anticipation
she says goodbye or tomorrow
If she smiles, she smiles from so far away
she must be just a memory, see her waving
she’s with her ancestors, they’re pale from dying.
Because she is not a swan. Because if you point at her,
you are pointing at a shadow.
In the deepest eye of the lake
she is the wake of a little boat that’s leaving.
And high up in the sky
she is the proof of the power of the wind.
I feel you, my beloved, your spirit I am calling.
I feel you, might be here this moment
forming a crystal, manifesting
a heart of fire.
The empty places you are living,we are calling eternity.
Original poem by Rosario Castellanos. Translation and music by Alisa Amor